


Bounce Back

by Guinevere137



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Bad Parent Stoick the Vast, F/M, Stoick the Vast's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guinevere137/pseuds/Guinevere137
Summary: “Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and discomforts.” ~Arnold Bennett





	1. Another Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

> I lean heavily on my own personal Stoick the Vast headcanons in this, and it's basically an excuse to use said headcanons in writing. Don't like that, I'm very sorry.

Stoick was not traditionally a religious man, but as the days dragged on, he found himself praying several times a day. His son was missing half a leg at fifteen years old—not an uncommon occurrence on Berk, but one he certainly never thought Hiccup would ever have to face. To make matters worse, the boy was unconscious, in and out of a fever, and Stoick's chiefly duties forced him away from the boy's bedside for more hours than he'd like. Honestly, if he had his way, he'd never leave that room at all. 

Breathe, the little voice in his head told him. 

And Stoick's problems only worsened from there. With the dragons free from their telepathic slavery, many had settled on Berk, some finding the welcome arms of Gothi and Hiccup's classmates, while others forced themselves on the Berkians by settling in their barns, in their houses, and on their rooftops. Several had even found their way into the Mead Hall; Stoick couldn't enter the public meal house without slamming into the hide of at least one Gronkle or excited Deadly Nadder. The Terrible Terrors tripped pretty much everyone in the market, and this morning a Zippleback had crashed Gunther's roof in. The aftermath of that was what Stoick had woken up to. 

Needless to say, most of the village was not pleased with their new roommates, and Stoick spent most of his days sorting out arguments, calming villagers, and stopping fires before they could take the whole of Berk down. Which was exactly what he was doing now, taking a bucket Spitelout offered him and splashing out a fire a Gronkle had caused in the market place. As the fire shriveled down to smolders, Stoick ran a hand over his face and sighed, turning to his brother. “What happened here?” he demanded. Behind Spitelout, several villagers shifted, murmured, and shrugged; most of them had responded to the shouts about the fire out of instinct, and had zero real concept of what had caused said fire. One, however, marched forward, waving an ax and red in the face. 

“I won't have it, Stoick!” Mildew shouted. “I won't have these—these beasts in our homes! They're killers, I say—killers! This here Gronkle,” here, Mildew waved vaguely toward the now wounded and whimpering Gronkle cowering behind the remains of the fire, “was trying ta steal Fungus! Wanted ta eat him, it did! I won't have it, Stoick! Tell that boy of yours ta make them go away before I take care of it myself!” 

Just breathe, Stoick. Deep breaths...The little voice in his head was not helping. 

Stoick shook his head, “We have peace now, Mildew, and that's not something I'm willing to give up. For generations, these creatures have fought for their own survival—or do you not remember the beast that enslaved them? Now, they have no place to go, and I'm sure we can find uses for them—they're certainly willing to help.” That much was true: many of the dragons had taken up roles as beasts of burden, carrying yak milk jugs across town, flying their humans out to nearby islands and sea stacks where the fishing was good before aiding in bringing the loads back to Berk. It was those examples that had helped change Stoick's own opinion of the beasts—those, and the actions of the Night Fury currently babysitting his ailing son. 

Mildew sneered at Stoick, “Then cage them,” he growled. “If ya want ta use them as yaks or mules, find a place ta put up when yer not usin' them. Make Hiccup--”

“Hiccup,” Stoick said softly, “Is still unconscious, and I'm not making him do anything he don't want to do when he wakes up. I'm sure he'll have some ideas on how to make things move more...smoothly around here, but if he does anything with these creatures it'll be on his terms. Not mine, and certainly not yours.” Maybe it was his words, or the stony tone Stoick's voice took on toward the end, or maybe it was the cold authority mixed in with a father's worry and grief on his face that had Mildew backing down for the moment. Stoick turned his attention to the crowd that was still milling about behind them, lead in part by Spitelout. 

“Go on!” he shouted, waving his massive hands around, “Nothing to see here, people, keep moving! Sure there's something better for you grimy snots to be working on!” the crowd slowly broke up into groups of gossiping Berkians, all heading in different directions. Stoick turned to Spitelout. “Go get Gothi. I want her to take a look at the Gronkle.” Spitelout nodded wordlessly and disappeared into the crowd. 

The Gronkle had a gash on its left foreleg, nothing too serious, but enough for the beast to be limping as it made its way—head down—over to Stoick. It head-butted him gently, crooning, and Stoick started for a moment before remembering what Fishlegs and Astrid had told him. “Scratch them behind the ears, and under their chin too. They like that. Just be gentle with them, and they'll be just as gentle back.” Slowly, Stoick followed those instructions and took up scratching the dragon under its chin as he waited for Spitelout and Gothi to arrive. The dragon seemed content with it, but Stoick was glad when the healer and his brother came, and he gave up the Gronkle to Gothi. 

An herbal salve and a bandage was really all that could be done for the beast, the wound wasn't even deep enough to need stitches. Stoick guessed Mildew would have done more damage had the dragon not set fire to the seller's booth behind him in a fit of rage and pain. He was surprised to find that he was glad the old man hadn't gotten that chance. 

Temporarily free of duties, Stoick made his way back to his house to visit Hiccup and make something to eat. Breakfast had been a quick affair; the Night Fury took most of it while Stoick left it unsupervised in search of a jug of mead. That had been hours ago as well, and now Stoick could feel his limps go weak and shaky with a need for protein. 

He arrived at the house in surprisingly short order. No one stopped him on the way there, nothing broke, no more fires were set, and he didn't even so much as trip on a Terrible Terror. Perhaps it was a sign from the gods that things could go his way in this new life of his, Stoick mused. Or perhaps he had just gotten lucky. 

The Night Fury wasn't in the front room when Stoick got in. Immediately, he knew the beast was at Hiccup's bedside, just as he was when he wasn't eating with Stoick or outside...doing whatever it was he had to do outside. Stoick sighed in relief and began searching for some fish to smoke over the fire. 

The Night Fury smelled his lunch almost immediately after Stoick had it on the plate. It poked its great head out of the doorway at the top of the stairs and eyes him curiously. Stoick shooed him away with a wave of his hand. “Oh no, you great brute,” he said, “You're not getting my lunch too, now. Off with ya! You already had my breakfast!” The Night Fury snorted in what Stoick thought might have been derision and stalked back into Hiccup's room. Stoick ate his lunch in peace. 

Aside from the dragon and the comatose boy in the bed, Hiccup's bedroom was empty. Astrid had come and gone for several days, checking up on the boy whenever she could, but Stoick hadn't seen hide or hair of her all day. He wondered if she'd finally taken Gothi's advice to get some rest, something Stoick himself had been avoiding for days now. He sat on the little chair by Hiccup's bed and took up the cloth soaking in the bowl on the floor. He squeezed the excess water out of it and leaned over to place it on Hiccup's head. Just like every other day, Stoick assessed his son's face for any sign of improvement, and just like every other day, there wasn't any. Stoick leaned back again with a sigh and look over at the Night Fury. It sat with its head on Hiccup's abdomen, and its gaze rose and fell with the boy's breathing. Nevertheless, that gaze remained steadily on Stoick, never blinking. 

Stoick knew quite well that the Night Fury didn't trust him. He hadn't given it very much indication that it could when they first met, and while he'd done his best to make up for his actions, they still had a long way to go. The fact that he was allowed in the room was a sign of the progress they made; the fact that he could lay a towel on Hiccup's head, another. Still, every movement Stoick made around Hiccup was watched and judged by two unblinking green eyes. Stoick watched the Night Fury back. Hiccup may trust the beast, but Stoick didn't—not entirely—and especially not around his son.

Stoick wasn't very good at showing it, he knew, but he did care for the boy. While he knew it wasn't an excuse, part of the reason for his neglect of the boy was all of his similarities to Valka. Another, of course, was his role as chief, a role that made single-handedly raising a child difficult, especially a child as wild and headstrong as Hiccup. Still, he did his best, and while his best obviously wasn't good enough, he had vowed the day after the battle to try much, much harder as soon as Hiccup woke up. Now, Stoick was beginning to wonder if Hiccup would ever wake up. 

With a grunt, Stoick got up and wandered the room, conscious of the Night Fury's eyes on him. Idly, he meandered over to Hiccup's desk and began to flip through some of the things there. There were pencils and blank papers, a low candle in dire need of replacement, and several, several drawings. Stoick sat in the desk chair and scanned each with interest.

The older ones, he noticed, were of Astrid. Dozens and dozens of portraits of Astrid, each highly-detailed and dated in the bottom right-hand corner. Many were old and smudged by constant use and movement around the desk, but a few were on the top and intact. The better ones, Stoick soon realized. The ones Hiccup was proud of. The newer drawings were of the Night Fury and its saddle contraption. Stoick knew just by looking at them that there were more—most likely in Gobber's workshop—because there were sequences of flight patterns that were incomplete and notes about dragons that looked like they'd been torn from a notebook. Probably because of the mistakes all over the paper, making them mostly illegible. There were other contraptions, too, and as Stoick flipped through the papers he scratched his beard and began to form a growing ball of pride. His son was an accomplished artist, more than that, he had the makings of a brilliant engineer. Even the built and failed machines were well-thought out and planned, with notes about what didn't work and how to fix it scattered along the edges. He smiled and made a mental note to Gobber to show him all of Hiccup's work. Perhaps the two of them could perfect some of those machines and make them truly useful. 

There's so much about him you don't know, that annoying little voice reminded him, and Stoick grunted. 

A knock (more like several frantic bangs) sounded from the door downstairs, and the Night Fury perked up at Hiccup's bedside. It growled, but Stoick waved it away. He stomped down the stairs as the banging grew more and more frantic. “I'm coming, I'm coming!” he shouted, annoyed. He swung the door open. Fishlegs's father stood at the door, arms crossed and a Terrible Terror hanging from the hen of his tunic. 

“This is the third time today,” he growled and pushed into Stoick's house. “The third time today I've had to deal with one of these...beasts!...and frankly, Stoick, I've had enough!” He spun towards Stoick as he ranted. “The Gronkle's fine, sure, I don't care what 'Legs does, he's almost a man, but I have been picked up by a Nadder, pushed over by a Monstrous Nightmare, and then—when I was taking some fish home to my wife—this wee beasty latched onto me! I haven't been able to get it off for an hour, now! Not even 'Legs can get it!” 

Stoick crossed his arms. He had a sneaking suspicion as to what was coming next, but he still asked, “So what are you here for?” 

Fishlegs's father straightened awkwardly. “I've come to see your son. The dragon tamer.” 

Stoick was right. “He's unconscious,” he said shortly and opened the door. The man in front of him balked as he made his way out. 

“Still?” he asked. “Well, damn, I guess just 'cause he lost his leg fighting a dragon that doesn't make him any less, well, Hiccup, right?” he laughed and Stoick glowered at him. 

“I thought I told everyone never to speak ill of my son,” he growled. He had, the first night home after the battle, Stoick made an announcement that Hiccup was to be treated with respect, as one of their own. This wasn't the first time he'd had to remind someone about that. Fishlegs's father cowered slightly, nodded, and left. The Terrible Terror let go as he broke into a run and took off in flight in another direction. 

*~*~*~*~*

Gobber came with Hiccup's newly finished leg the next morning, about an hour after the boy's fever finally broke. For Stoick, it felt as though things were finally beginning to move forward. The Night Fury gave a soft warning growl to Gobber as he came in, but it was nothing like the pounce the blacksmith had received when he first came to check on Hiccup. When Gothi unwrapped Hiccup's leg for the fitting, Stoick was relieved to see the stitches healing nicely and no infection had set in. Gobber's craftsmanship was perfect as usual; the leg fit the boy wonderfully. He'd added some extra padding, for comfort's sake, and the straps were easy enough to get on and off. Gobber made a point of teaching Stoick how it was done. 

“This one wraps around his leg like this, see? And then it tightens with this here buckle—so it doesn't fall off. And then you strap this one in like that and...” he pulled the second strap tight. “There ya go!” Gobber beamed at him. Stoick simply nodded his thanks. He knew that Hiccup would need his help—someone would have to teach him to put the leg on and take it off, and Gobber couldn't always do it, what with his apprentice out of commission and jobs still needing to be done. Stoick had logically known this since the very beginning, but learning the way to put the prosthetic on, seeing Hiccup's nearly-healed stump...it somehow made it all the more real. He thanked Gobber and sent him away. Gothi left of her own accord a few minutes later. Thankfully, she guessed that Hiccup would wake up soon.


	2. Ya do yer best, Stoick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup finally wakes up.

Gothi was right. Hiccup woke up the next day, but while he took to flying on that dragon like a fish to water, walking was an entirely different story. Aside from the first, very promising day, Hiccup's walking skills were less than impressive. For the most part, Hiccup completely refused to walk, instead choosing to fly from place to place or spending his time sitting down. The few times he did walk, it was short distances and heavily unbalanced, with a limp Stoick would have noticed ten miles away. Stoick did his best to try and help him, but Hiccup seemed unresponsive to any attempts at help. He seemed uncomfortable even talking about his wound or the events that led up to it. Eventually, Stoick found himself considering dropping the issue, when he remembered his promise to himself: try harder. Be a better father. Help him. 

And so Stoick paid even more attention, and noticed something else: Hiccup shied away from most of the village ninety-nine percent of the time. Astrid's attention had him blushing and limping away with shocking speed, the Berkian adults approaching him for dragon advice was even worse. But what broke Stoick's heart the most was the boy's reaction to his help, his kindness. Like everyone else, Hiccup faced Stoick with uncertainty, anxiety, and what Stoick thought might have been fear. It crushed him, and he remembered the years of neglect and insults he'd thrown his son's way. It was no wonder he dealt with things so poorly; he wasn't used to kindness, even from those who should have given it unconditionally. Valka, Stoick mused, would be ashamed of him. 

*~*~*~*~* 

Two weeks after Hiccup woke up, Stoick turned to Gobber for help. “Give him time,” the blacksmith advised, “Give him space. There's been a lot of change around here, especially for him. Let him get used to one thing at a time.” 

Stoick leaned against a work table in the forge. “I made a promise to myself, Gobber,” he whispered. “To be better to him. He deserves better.”

Gobber waved the comment away dismissively, “Ah, ya do yer best, Stoick,” he said. “Besides, he's got me!” Gobber grinned cheekily. “He'll make it. Promise. Just give him time.” Stoick sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

“Thanks, Gobber,” he said, though he didn't feel thankful at all. “I guess I'll try that.” His best friend beamed at him on his way out. 

He found Hiccup in his room, head in his right-hand, his left drawing out the vague shape of something Stoick couldn't see from where he stood in the room. Toothless—Hiccup insisted that Stoick “address him properly—he has a name.”--sat in the corner on a fur rug Hiccup had dragged out of the Mead Hall's back storage room three days ago. The dragon opened a single eye, decided Stoick wasn't worth his time, and closed it again, purring contentedly as he curled closer in on himself. Stoick continued to stand in the doorway, and shifted his weight from one foot to another. The floorboard creaked, Hiccup jumped, and Stoick winced. 

“Dad!” Hiccup spun around. He jumped to his feet, knocked the chair over, and immediately fell backwards, unaccustomed to sudden movement with the prosthetic. He landed on his rear with a thud. Stoick watched as the boy's face turned bright pink. “I didn't hear you come in,” he explained. He picked himself awkwardly off the floor and dusted himself off. Stoick couldn't help but notice how he leaned his hip on the table to support his weight. 

“They're really good,” The statement was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He gestured vaguely toward the table. “The drawings, I mean. I saw a few while you were...incapacitated.” 

Hiccup's blush came back with a vengeance. He dropped his eyes and shifted his weight from the table to his right foot. “Ah...they're not...that good...It's not like I take drawing that...seriously...”

Stoick raised an eyebrow, “I thought they were good.”

“Trust me, they're not.” 

Obviously Hiccup couldn't take a compliment. Stoick huffed and spun on his heel, “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hiccup!” Stoick's head shot up when he heard that soon-to-be-familiar thud-step gate of his son on the stairs. He slammed his massive hands on the table as he rose to his feet. “I need your help with something, son.” The chief smiled at his son, who was still halfway down the stairs, Night Fury behind him. 

Hiccup flinched. 

Stoick's heart sank a little. He smiled at him. Strained. 

“Come on, son,” he waved his hand encouragingly and made his way toward the door. “There's a Gronkle that's made its home in the Great Hall—I need you to get it out; it's scaring the children.” 

Stoick glanced behind him. Hiccup was still staring blankly at him. It occurred to Stoick that he'd never actually asked Hiccup for help with, well, anything. In his defense, though, had he really had a reason to? He pushed the thought from his head and smiled at Hiccup again. 

“You're the only one who knows these dragons, son,” Stoick reminded him. “I can't do this without you.” 

“...Can I bring Toothless...?” 

“Of course!” Stoick grinned genuinely this time, glad that that was Hiccup's only condition. He had no clue what he'd have done if Hiccup had refused. Hiccup nodded slowly and gestured to Toothless. 

“C'mon, Bud,” he muttered. “Let's go help this Gronkle, huh?” The pair made their way down the stairs and Stoick turned to lead them out of the house. 

Stoick frowned. Hiccup saw this job as helping the dragon. He had no loyalty to his people, no desire to help the village. His only affection was to the creatures they'd only recently made peace with after decades of brutal warfare. He shook his head. That would need to change. 

The Gronkle was right where Stoick had left it the night before: in the back of the Great Hall, near the head table, curled up near a now-empty fish basket. Its eyes were closed, and the villagers stared at it with mixed looks of fear and fascination. 

Stoick moved to stride toward the beast, only to be stopped by a tentative, “Dad.” He turned toward Hiccup. The boy looked seriously out of place, much like he had in the ring with the Nightmare. Awkward, nervous, but with an added undertone of confidence Stoick had never seen before. He gestured with one hand to the Gronkle. Stoick understood immediately. Let me.   
Stoick took a step back and Hiccup moved toward the dragon. 

The Gronkle opened its eyes halfway, bored. It groaned, shifted, and stood up to take a few paces away from Hiccup. Stoick and several others watched with baited breath as Hiccup approached the beast, hand outstretched as if just begging to lose another limb. He fell to his knees beside the beast. 

“Hey, Buddy,” Hiccup whispered. The Gronkle opened a singular eye again and regarded Hiccup with mild interest. “We need to get you out of here, okay? You can't stay in here forever; we need to use this building.” Hiccup turned toward the villagers. “Does anybody have some fish?” Toothless perked up at the word, and Hiccup noticed immediately. “No,” he laughed. “I'll get some for you later, okay?” The Night Fury deflated.

One of the villagers stepped forward. Stoick recognized him vaguely as Toes, one of the fishermen who was barely on land enough for Stoick to remember his name. “I've got an eel,” he held out the stringy sea creature, and every dragon in the room flinched. Beside him, Toothless reared back. 

“Woah!” 

Hiccup's voice was louder that Stoick thought it could get. For the first time in fifteen years, he thought that maybe the boy had inherited something from his side of the family. He had his hands up in a placating gesture, and the dragons eventually relaxed. 

The room went silent. 

Stoick stared at Hiccup. He'd never seen him with that much control, that much command, over anything. Yet there he was, standing in front of a room full Vikings and dragons alike, and the crowd was silent. Watching him. 

Hiccup relaxed. “I need a fish,” he said. “Dragons don't like eels. Obviously.” He added the last part with a tinge of wit, and while Stoick and a few others snorted, Toes sneered. 

“That's not exactly obvious, boy,” he snapped. “How was I s'pposed ta know that, eh? We can't all be dragon whisperers like yerself!”

“N-no, I-I didn't mean--”

“That's enough, Toes,” Gobber's gruff voice interrupted what very quickly could have escalated into an all-out fight, and Stoick relaxed. Gobber's hook had a fish hanging from it, and he tossed toward Hiccup. Shockingly, he caught it easily. 

Hiccup turned toward the Gronkle. He held the fish by the gills, one arm outstretched, the other raised in a gentle, calming motion. “This is for you,” he offered; the beast perked up a bit. “Just follow me, okay? Follow me, and you can have it.” 

The Gronkle rose to its feet and lumbered toward the fish. Hiccup stepped back on his right leg, dragging the prosthetic behind him, but not picking it up. Gobber grunted next to Stoick. “He's learnin' fast,” he waved his good hand at Hiccup. “Took me forever to walk backward like tha'” 

Stoick's chest filled with pride for more than one reason, then. 

Hiccup did in fifteen minutes what Stoick couldn't do in three hours the night before. Several people clapped the boy on the shoulder—Stoick and Gobber included—as they all exited the Great Hall. 

Toothless preened under the attention. He stuck his tongue out one side and happily accepted the fish and hugs people gave him as they passed by. 

Hiccup, however, wasn't nearly as comfortable. He shrunk away from the praise, all but becoming physically smaller when people approached him. His laugh grew more and more nervous and high-pitched until finally Stoick had enough of watching the poor boy and called him away. 

“Come on, lad,” Stoick shouted. “Let's get over to the marketplace. I want to show you how to help the people barter...”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stoick and Hiccup got home late that night. Their day had been spent bartering and helping others with small, menial tasks. Stoick shoved Hiccup into every social situation that arrived. He was eager to develop the boy's loyalty to his people, and the best way to do that, Stoick figured, was to let Hiccup meet every villager he could, to give him a chance to bond with them they way he had Toothless. 

Hiccup was having none of it. 

When one of the villagers hand a dragon by his side, Hiccup went to the dragon first, cooing and chattering and befriending the beast instantaneously. When there wasn't a beast in sight ( aside from Toothless, of course,) Hiccup clung to the dragon's saddle, refused to meet people's eyes, and stuttered through every encounter. 

Stoick's frustration rose. 

Finally, he brought Hiccup into the Great Hall and released him to his peers, who acknowledged him and Toothless with smiles and greetings, while all Hiccup gave was a stuttering response and a blush in return. 

Stoick watched from the opposite end of the room as Astrid punched Hiccup playfully. Hiccup winced and held his shoulder. Stoick shook his head. “Something's not right,” he told Gobber, who was munching on a chicken leg beside him. “He barely spoke to the villagers, Gobber. It's like he couldn't care less about them.” Stoick grabbed some mutton and from the platter in front of him and put it on his plate. He cut it up and ate it moodily, and when Gobber had a chance, he responded. 

“He probably doesn't,” Goober wiped fat off of his mouth. “Care about the villagers, I mean. After all, they haven't really given him much of a reason to care, have they?” 

“They're his people, Gobber. He's my heir. He needs to care about them.” 

His best friend shrugged. “Then teach him to,” a swig of mead, “you can't really expect him to care about people who—for the last fifteen years—haven't cared at all for him, in an instant, can you? You have to teach him, Stoick. Show him that Berk is a place to be proud of, that his people are worthy of his efforts.” 

Stoick nodded thoughtfully. Show him that Berk is a place to be proud of...He could work with that. Ideas began to spring up in his head, and not for the first time, Stoick wondered when Gobber got to be so wise. He glanced at his friend, who was busy digging into more meat, fat dripping down his beard. Perhaps wise wasn't quite the word he was looking for...

Stoick's eyes wondered to Hiccup's table. The twins were fighting again, and Fishlegs was struggling to break up the soon-to-be fist fight while Snotlout cheered them on. Astrid was rolling her eyes at the scene before turning back to her meal. Hiccup was sharing his food with Toothless and quite happily ignoring all human company. 

For the first time all day, Stoick couldn't blame him.


	3. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title's self-explanatory.

For three days now, no one had seen hide or hair of Hiccup or Toothless. Stoick's days were spent shrugging when people asked for the boy, whom he'd never see until after breakfast. The boy would eat quickly, and leave with only a barely remembered, “Bye, Dad,” and no would see him after that. 

Gobber never saw him. Despite being well enough to work in the forge, Hiccup had yet to resume his apprenticeship. Stoick and many others came by the forge on a nearly-daily basis now, but there was no sign of the fifteen-year-old dragon trainer. 

Neither Astrid, nor the rest of Hiccup's year-mates saw any sign of him. To be fair, though, most never paid much attention to Hiccup anyway, and only really did when they wanted or needed something from him. Astrid was the only one of the group who was concerned. 

On the fourth day, Stoick gave up. He waited until Hiccup and Toothless had been gone maybe for three or...four minutes, and then heaved himself from his chair and followed them outside. It didn't take long to find them; a Night Fury may be impossible to find at night, but if you new what you were looking for in the crystal-clear Berkian sky, you could find one. Stoick knew what to look for. 

Stoick followed the speck he knew to be Toothless out into the forest. It didn't take long to realize that they were headed toward Raven's Point or somewhere close to it. It did, however, take a significantly longer time to get there on foot than it would have flying on a dragon. Stoick started to wonder if he should adopt and train one of his own. Hiccup would be thrilled if he did, he mused. It would make great father-son bonding time. Stoick smiled at the thought. That sort of exercise was exactly what they needed, he decided. He found the cove. 

Hiccup was sitting with his back to Stoick, leaning against a rock, prosthetic abandoned and Toothless a few feet away, hunting fish in the lake. From what it looked like, Hiccup was drawing Toothless in action. Stoick frowned, eyebrows drawing together. Hiccup had everything he'd ever wanted--fame, glory, peace between men and dragon—and it still wasn't enough. He still preferred to spend his time hiding in the forest, shutting others out. Don't blow up, Stoick, the little voice whispered. Remembering his promise, Stoick turned away and left before he lost his temper.

The rest of his day passed slowly. A fire caught in someone's barn, but it didn't get too big. A few of the dragons fought over fish, but got over it when another basket was brought over. He met with the men of the town to discuss how best to house and care for the dragons, but with Hiccup not there, the meeting was quiet and fast. Throughout the whole day, all Stoick could think about was Hiccup, and his anger built and burned inside of him. 

That night, in an attempt to keep his promise, Stoick pulled away from Hiccup when he and Toothless came home—earlier than usual, Stoick noted. Still, he kept to himself, reading. “Hi, Dad,” Hiccup called. Stoick closed his eyes and breathed, willing himself not to explode. 

“Hello, son,” he answered gruffly; it was the best he could do, as angry as he was. 

He could hear Hiccup falter. His prosthetic thumped softly a little too far behind his last step, and his shifting weight creaked the floorboards. After a few minutes, Hiccup asked, “Is there...something wrong?” 

Don't, the little voice in the back of his head whispered. Don't start--

“Oh nothing,” grunted Stoick, ignoring the little voice “Just that nothing ever seems to be good enough for you. Just that I'm going to so much trouble to make dragons and Vikings live together and you don't even care!!! You just run off, every day, despite the fact that your people need you!!! Despite the fact that I need you!!! Don't you ever stop to think about anybody but yourself?? Oh, no, don't answer that—I know the answer—you think about Toothless, precious little Toothless! Gods, Hiccup!! Don't you see how badly we need you?” 

Stoick was roaring by the end of his rant—he couldn't help it; Hiccup had no right, no right to run off the way he did! His people were struggling—why couldn't he see that? Didn't he care? 

Wait...

Why wasn't Hiccup saying anything? 

Why wasn't he fighting back? 

He usually fought back. 

Stoick was unusually disappointed. 

Stoick blinked. “Hiccup?” 

Hiccup was staring at him blankly, questions spinning in his eyes. Toothless crooned, and Hiccup reached out to pat him vaguely, still speechless. 

Look what you've done now, said the little voice. 

“...They...they need me?” Hiccup asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “For what?” 

Well, that wasn't what he expected. 

Please don't--

“For what?” Stoick roared, “For what?? How about to wrangle those Loki-dammed dragons running amok all over Berk! How about how to teach one of us to do it, maybe? Ever think of that, wise-guy? Ever think of helping your village??” 

Hiccup kept staring. And then, suddenly, it all caught up with him and-- 

“Oh, sure,” he drolled, defensive, “Help out people too prideful to help themselves by asking me! Like I'd want to help them!” 

“They're your people, Hiccup!”

“Well maybe they should have acted like it!!” 

Oh, said the little voice, finally heard as the room fell silent. There it is... 

Hiccup disappeared upstairs.


	4. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoick and Hiccup make a deal.

Look what you've done now! 

Stoick waited a total of fifteen minutes before following Hiccup up the stairs. The lad's door was slammed tightly shut, and Stoick could hear Toothless's heavy breathing on the other side. Slowly, he pushed open the door. 

He was met with Toothless's nose in the doorway, teeth bared and lips pulled back in a nasty snarl. Great, the little voice muttered. Back to square one. He ignored said voice and knocked on Hiccup's door. 

“Hiccup,” he called gently. “Son, we need to talk.” 

“Go away!”

“Son,” Stoick insisted. “I'm sorry for shoutin'. Jus' got a little frustrated is all. Can you get your dragon to let me in?” 

“Toothless,” Hiccup said, and for a moment Stoick thought he was talking to the beast. But then... “His name is Toothless.” 

“Toothless,” Stoick amended. “I'm sorry. Can you get Toothless to let me in?” 

A pause. And then, “C'mere, bud. Let him in.” Toothless growled one last time and slunk over to Hiccup's bed. Stoick opened the door and pushed his bulk passed the door frame. He sat on Hiccup's bed, careful not to sit on Hiccup himself. 

“Can we talk?” Hiccup grunted. “Can you sit up? Look at me?” Hiccup did as he was asked, though begrudgingly. His face was covered in crinkles from the bed sheets. His hair stuck up funny. Stoick thought it odd that that could happen so quickly. Focus...

“Look, Hiccup,” Stoick began. “I'm sorry I yelled. I didn't mean to, I just...I'm so frustrated. You have everything a Viking could want, but it's not good enough for you...” 

“What are you talking about?” Hiccup interrupted. “What's not good enough?” 

Stoick blanched inwardly. Was he serious? Breathe...Stoick took a deep breath. “You have friends you never talk to, an apprenticeship you've worked hard at for years, people who need you--” 

“You keep saying they need me, but for what?” 

He was serious. Another deep breath. “To train the dragons. To help them integrate into Berk. We can't do it without you, son.” 

“Oh...right...that...” Hiccup's face had turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. He ducked his head. “Dad?” he whispered. “Can I tell you something?” 

Progress! “Anything.” 

“I...I don't know what to say to them. Anyone. That's why I, well, that's why I've been hiding with Toothless. It's just so much easier with him--”

“It'll never get easier if you don't give it a chance. Now, what was that you said about them acting more like your people?” 

A deeper shade of red. Stoick didn't think he'd seen such a shade since he'd started courting Valka. The boy got more like her everyday. Hiccup took a deep breath. “They've never really liked me, have they?” he asked rhetorically. Stoick silently conceded that that was probably true. “They treat me like...like yak's dung one day, and then I kill a dragon and I'm suddenly a hero. I'm suddenly...wanted. It's overwhelming.” 

In all honesty, Stoick had never thought of it like that. He'd never thought about how these changes must have made Hiccup feel, and maybe that was his first and primary blunder. “I could see how that would be a bit to take in,” he admitted. Hiccup snorted. 

“A bit,” he drawled. There's my boy...

Stoick grinned. “A bit,” he agreed. 

 

“I just don't know how to deal with it!” Hiccup exploded. “I thought I would, but it makes me uncomfortable to talk to people, and there are people everywhere, and I'm so used to being alone! It's weird, Dad!” Hiccup's voice broke and tears watered in his eyes. “I don't know what to do....” 

“I'll tell you what,” Stoick began, thinking, “You give me three days out of the week working with the village; we'll see how it goes. And in exchange, I'll try to be more understanding about these things. But in order for me to do that, you have to talk to me. Sound fair?” 

Sniffling, Hiccup nodded. “Deal,” he whispered. 

 

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting this on FF.net under the same username, as well, so if you'd like to read it with the original italics, it is there.


End file.
